OMG, I did something ORIGINAL
So, I wrote this. Because of bad porn. Yeah. Also, screw consistent capitalization. Original characters AHOY
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maybe they went out to dinner, at a greasy little diner, and maybe they walked on the beach together afterward, pants rolled up, laughing at the kids and the dogs, and maybe they kissed where no one could see them, held hands down an empty stretch of beach. maybe on the drive home Lawrence stroked a hand up Theo's thigh and laughed when he swerved. stop, start again.
maybe they were at a party, in a mansion full of rich fools, maybe they smoked cigars and laughed with the men, danced with the women, perfect and smooth, suave and charming with every smile and every laugh, every word. maybe they grinned at each other, private and knowing over the shoulders of beautiful women. maybe they left together, laughing, because none of them would ever know, maybe they walked down a hallway bumping shoulders and hips and hands and maybe. stop, start again.
maybe they were running down alleys and across streets, chasing mafioso thugs, escaping mafioso thugs, exchanging fire in empty buildings and grungy corners of the city, maybe they were laughing as they ran, trench-coats flapping behind them, turning a corner and reaching up to steady a fedora, climbing up fire escapes and catching hands across rooftops, maybe, when the thugs were far behind them, they stopped, and caught their breath, and laughed into each others mouths, kisses painting relief, maybe they caught a cab and maybe they stumbled into an apartment. stop, start again.
maybe they were on set, lounging in chairs and downing scotch between scenes, maybe they spun across the set, tugging a glossy, beautiful woman back and forth, dialogue snapping quick between them, maybe they joke behind the camera, mocking scenes and pretending to faint into each others arms, maybe at the end of the day, they go out for a drink, somewhere no one knows them and they can dance, slow and beautiful and together, maybe they walk back to an apartment and end up in the bedroom. stop, move forward.
There are two pairs of wing tipped shoes tumbled across the entryway, two pairs of slacks, one tossed haphazardly across the arm of the couch, the other left puddled on the floor where they fell. Two jackets nestled together in the open doorway of the bedroom, two ties on opposite sides of the room. Two hats abandoned on top of the dresser, and four socks at the foot of the bed. two pairs of underwear tossed carelessly on the floor, and two shirts tangled hopelessly under the pillows. The two men on the bed are laughing into each others mouths, careless and hungry, twined together and wrestling, and it doesn't matter what they were doing. Lawrence is sprawled across the bed, hips rolling up and up, his back forming a perfect, impossible arch every time. Theodore is a heavy, hot weight on top of him, and Lawrence throws back his head and moans. Theo is moving inside him, every thrust is slick, utter bliss. Beneath him, Lawrence is writhing, mouth open and face flushed. His hands flutter over Theo's shoulders, settle and dig in. Their eyes are closed, and they move together like a dream, languid and slow, all the time in the world spread out before them. stop.
.
maybe they went out to dinner, at a greasy little diner, and maybe they walked on the beach together afterward, pants rolled up, laughing at the kids and the dogs, and maybe they kissed where no one could see them, held hands down an empty stretch of beach. maybe on the drive home Lawrence stroked a hand up Theo's thigh and laughed when he swerved. stop, start again.
maybe they were at a party, in a mansion full of rich fools, maybe they smoked cigars and laughed with the men, danced with the women, perfect and smooth, suave and charming with every smile and every laugh, every word. maybe they grinned at each other, private and knowing over the shoulders of beautiful women. maybe they left together, laughing, because none of them would ever know, maybe they walked down a hallway bumping shoulders and hips and hands and maybe. stop, start again.
maybe they were running down alleys and across streets, chasing mafioso thugs, escaping mafioso thugs, exchanging fire in empty buildings and grungy corners of the city, maybe they were laughing as they ran, trench-coats flapping behind them, turning a corner and reaching up to steady a fedora, climbing up fire escapes and catching hands across rooftops, maybe, when the thugs were far behind them, they stopped, and caught their breath, and laughed into each others mouths, kisses painting relief, maybe they caught a cab and maybe they stumbled into an apartment. stop, start again.
maybe they were on set, lounging in chairs and downing scotch between scenes, maybe they spun across the set, tugging a glossy, beautiful woman back and forth, dialogue snapping quick between them, maybe they joke behind the camera, mocking scenes and pretending to faint into each others arms, maybe at the end of the day, they go out for a drink, somewhere no one knows them and they can dance, slow and beautiful and together, maybe they walk back to an apartment and end up in the bedroom. stop, move forward.
There are two pairs of wing tipped shoes tumbled across the entryway, two pairs of slacks, one tossed haphazardly across the arm of the couch, the other left puddled on the floor where they fell. Two jackets nestled together in the open doorway of the bedroom, two ties on opposite sides of the room. Two hats abandoned on top of the dresser, and four socks at the foot of the bed. two pairs of underwear tossed carelessly on the floor, and two shirts tangled hopelessly under the pillows. The two men on the bed are laughing into each others mouths, careless and hungry, twined together and wrestling, and it doesn't matter what they were doing. Lawrence is sprawled across the bed, hips rolling up and up, his back forming a perfect, impossible arch every time. Theodore is a heavy, hot weight on top of him, and Lawrence throws back his head and moans. Theo is moving inside him, every thrust is slick, utter bliss. Beneath him, Lawrence is writhing, mouth open and face flushed. His hands flutter over Theo's shoulders, settle and dig in. Their eyes are closed, and they move together like a dream, languid and slow, all the time in the world spread out before them. stop.